


last night i dreamt that we were falling apart

by tofugumball



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26133655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofugumball/pseuds/tofugumball
Summary: Early days, honeymoon stage. Happy naivety and the undisturbed faith that they’re perfect together.
Relationships: Dr. Charlotte/Cordelia (Falsettos)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	last night i dreamt that we were falling apart

**Author's Note:**

> title from "Oxford Blood" by Autoheart

Hot summer, messy desk, pink flip flops. Charlotte refills the water jug and puts it back in the fridge. There’s ice cream in the freezer and bright green trees outside. Is Charlotte happy? asks no one, because it’s a weird question to ask.

Cordelia’s eyes are closed as she stands in front of the large pedestal fan in the living room, her face inches away from the blade guards. She must have heard Charlotte enter the flat, but didn’t move a muscle. Perfect concentration. Charlotte won’t be the one to break it.

She doesn’t let the door slam on her way out, though it’s tempting. She strolls down the street with sun in her eyes and sweat in her armpits. The women walking past her are wearing colourful clothes, dark clothes, beautiful clothes. Most of them are pretty. Some of them look at Charlotte the way Charlotte used to look at women, once, before she met Cordelia and things became easy for a while until they got complicated again.

Early days, honeymoon stage. Happy naivety and the undisturbed faith that they’re perfect together.

The last time they said _I love you_ was sixteen days ago. Charlotte’s been waiting for Cordelia to notice. One could call it a little experiment on her part. Charlotte calls it playing games you swore to yourself you wouldn’t play anymore.

She orders a coffee and sits at her favourite table. Looking out the window, it occurs to her that none of the pretty women passing by the café ever ignored her for days on end or strived to hurt her with words in a moment of anger. They’ve never resented her for anything. Clean slates, new beginnings, zero ammunition. How few of these women would file away in their minds, insecure and jealous, every touch Charlotte exchanges with her female friends? Which of them could Charlotte trust more than she trusts Cordelia?

With someone else, how long would the slate stay clean for?

She shakes her head slightly. She needs to snap out of it. Her first free afternoon in forever, and she’s spending it alone in a cheap café, blowing her relationship problems out of proportion. Meanwhile, other people are out there facing real issues. Whizzer’s in the hospital, for god’s sake, and growing weaker each day. Charlotte feels like crying every time she stops by for a visit. Hospital gown on a thin body, bags under eyes, Marvin’s hands clasped so tight together the skin turns white and red.

Out on the street it’s hot and uncomfortable. It must be pleasantly cool back home. At home, there’s two working fans and ice cream in the freezer, and Cordelia, soft and familiar, so ready to kiss Charlotte hello unless she happens to be practising meditation like her friend Storm convinced her she should. Cordelia, who’s cheerful to the point of being annoying at times, who hates giving up and shows her love in a hundred different ways almost every day.

Change of scene: sitting on their well-used sofa with a second, half-empty glass of wine helps.

CHARLOTTE: I love you so much.

CORDELIA: I love you too.

CHARLOTTE: We haven’t said that in so long!

CORDELIA: Didn’t we say it yesterday?

CHARLOTTE: No.

CORDELIA: Oh. I guess not.

Staring evenly at her reflection in the mirror, Charlotte forms a plan. One, she will take a shower. Two, she will be the big spoon tonight. It’ll make it easier to three, get out of bed in the morning without waking Cordelia up. Four, she’ll figure something out from there. They’ll get around to serious talking eventually. Make a new mark on their marked up slate.

Her gaze falls on Cordelia’s bright pink toothbrush next to the sink, and she spends a moment trying to imagine how the bathroom would look without it.

Five. Do better.


End file.
